


Live Forever Here

by libbertyjibbit



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Body Horror, Extra Treat, Eyes, Forced Eye Contact, Forced Intimacy, Isolation, M/M, Mind Reading, Monster Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist, Non-Consensual Blow Jobs, Overstimulation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:26:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25051642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/libbertyjibbit/pseuds/libbertyjibbit
Summary: At the end of the world, there are two. Martin might not understand that Jon is trying to protect him by keeping him here, but that's all right. Jon knows he will. In the meantime, he continues to take care of him.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 18
Kudos: 117
Collections: Nonconathon 2020





	Live Forever Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nan/gifts).



> Thanks so much to R.M. for the beta.

Jon knows what Martin is planning before he does. Martin doesn’t want to know; doesn’t want to acknowledge it because he believes that if it stays in the darker corners of his mind that Jon will not find it. That is not how this works, of course. There is not a part of Martin’s mind that Jon does not know, and there never will be again. The moment that Jon decided that he wanted to know everything about Martin, he did, from the thoughts he had in the womb to the things he doesn’t even know about himself. The future is more nebulous; he can see the paths that Martin might take up until his death but he can’t determine which he will wind up on with any real accuracy. At one point this was just one of many paths, but Jon keeps one of his eyes always on Martin, and it has been clear what will happen for – days? Weeks? Jon isn’t sure. Time is meaningless under the Eye.

Knowing what Martin is planning does make Jon sad, but he understands. Martin feels stifled here, kept, useless. It was always his biggest fear, and Jon should have remembered that. He should have given him more to do. He just wants to keep him safe, but a Martin left alone too long is a Martin who begins to worry about his usefulness.

Jon apologizes for this as he leads Martin back to his room. Martin shakes his head and tries to pull away – sullen – but Jon is firm. “You have to understand,” he says as he pulls him along. “It’s not that I want to keep you locked up. But you’ve seen how it is out there, and you would be unprotected. I can’t have that.”

“Jon, let me go,” Martin says. It’s the only thing he’s said since Jon found him trying to force the doors of the building open. His voice shakes, although Jon knows he is trying to sound stern. He pretends not to hear it. Relationships involve a bit of pretense, he remembers. He used to lie to Martin a lifetime ago to keep him safe. He hated it then and he hates it now, but sometimes it is kinder, and Jon wants to be kind to Martin whenever he can be.

Now is not one of those times. Martin is planning on trying again, Jon can see it clear as day, and while he is certain that there is no way out – he’d been very thorough about sealing every way that Martin could leave since he first realized that he had decided to try – it hurts him to see Martin hurt himself. He needs to learn now that he has to stay put. Jon will find him something to do, something safe, but he is not to be allowed to wander. If he gets outside without Jon he won’t be protected, and Jon can’t lose him. Surely he knows that. Jon tells him enough.

Jon puts Martin in his room and shuts the door. Martin immediately goes for the knob, but Jon has already locked it, and all he can do is pound his fist uselessly on the other side. “Jon,” he says. “Jon, you have to let me go. Please.”

“It hurts me to have to do this,” Jon says. “I want be able to trust you, Martin.”

“You can,” Martin says instantly, and Jon doesn’t answer. They both know he’s lying.

“When I come back maybe you’ll be willing to listen,” is all Jon says, and then he leaves. But of course he keeps an eye on him, as always. He sees Martin as he paces around the room, as he alternates between calling for him and pounding the door, screaming wordlessly when neither brings Jon to him. There are things to keep him occupied in the room: books and puzzles that Jon knows he likes, but he hasn’t touched them. He is determined not to, no matter how restless he becomes. Eventually he sits against the wall with his knees drawn up, huddling into himself as best he can, loneliness and sadness coming off of him in waves.

Jon loves him so much it hurts.

He counts his time from Martin not in minutes but in statements, pieces of horror stolen from those who have no shortage to give. He sees a woman slowly revolving, pirouetting to music only she can hear, knowing the second she stops the tiny wooden soldiers that watch will fall upon her. Here someone is running through a seemingly endless wood, listening for the panting breaths behind them, knowing that they will get closer, that’s the way it is in dreams, the monster is always faster, better, stronger, but running anyway, running past sense, past endurance, running even as they feel the breath of the thing behind them on their neck. They fall, are devoured, jerk themselves up and run again, an endless race they have already lost but can never quit. Still elsewhere a man sits alone in a dark room, afraid to turn on the light and see the things crawling on his flesh. But he can feel them. They squirm all over him and he knows that the small tugs he feels are their mouths, slowly devouring him. It’s almost painless, and that’s worse than if the pain were paralyzing. It is beautiful, and Jon watches and knows them all and smiles to himself at how delicious their fear tastes.

Martin is quiet when Jon comes back to let him out, but his head is no longer full of thoughts of leaving. He tries to turn his head away but Jon places a finger under his chin and turns it back. He wants Martin to look at him He wants to be the only thing Martin wants to look at, always.

Jon runs him a bath. It isn’t something that they need, not anymore, but he likes the ritual of it, likes adding the soap to the rough cloth and rubbing it over Martin’s skin. Martin likes it too; thinks that it makes him feel almost normal. It is upsetting that Martin doesn’t feel normal otherwise, but Jon likes to make him happy. The soap seeps through the closed lids of the eyes on his palm and Jon hisses, wincing. Martin flinches. Jon frowns. He’s closed all but two, in deference to Martin’s comfort, but he doesn’t like it.

“You should accept every part of what you love,” he says, and Martin laughs.

“Like you accepted that I want to leave?”

Jon sighs. He places his hand under Martin’s chin and tilts his head back so that he can pour water over his hair, then lathers the soap into it, getting it good and foamy. “If you left you’d die,” he says. “They would fall on you and I wouldn’t be able to stop them.” They’re hungry, the other Avatars. They can’t harm him and their food supply is running out, the fear growing stale as their victims experience it over and over again. They can’t sense Martin here but they’ve all seen him with him, the Archivist’s human, untapped. Fresh meat for them to feast on.

_Are they so different from you?_

“Yes,” Jon says, shocked. “Of course they are. I would never hurt you.” He is the only one who is still well-fed, anymore. There is still so much for him to know; he will watch until the End has devoured its last victim, and then perhaps it will be his turn to become gaunt and hollow and desperate. But no matter how bad it gets he will never turn on Martin, never so much as harm a hair on his head. He rinses the soap out of his hair gently, covering his eyes with his hand so that the soap can’t get in.

He dries Martin and wraps him in a fluffy robe, rubbing his hands up and down his arms as if to dispel a chill. Martin doesn’t want to lean into it, wants to punish Jon for locking him up so long, but the touch feels so good after so long with nothing. He leans into the arm that Jon places around him, eyes half-shut as Jon combs his fingers through his hair, soaking up the attention even as he tells himself he shouldn’t.

It is only when Jon leads him into the adjoining room and pushes him down on the bed that he balks.

“No, Jon,” he says, sitting up. Jon crawls towards him, over him and Martin shakes his head, pressing his hands against Jon’s chest. They press against the eyes there and they shiver in reaction, little bursts of delight that Jon feels all the way to his toes. The eyes are sensitive and they do so love being touched, but Martin doesn’t like to. Sure enough, Martin pulls his hands away as if scalded. He shakes his head. “Not, not now, okay? I don’t-can we just –“

“I miss you,” Jon says, and slides his hand inside the robe. He rubs his fingers lightly along Martin’s thigh, the way he likes it, and this time it’s Martin who shivers.

“Jon,” he says again, “please,” but Jon doesn’t answer. He doesn’t want to stop.

He unties the robe and pushes it open, exposing Martin to his voracious gaze. Martin’s gorgeous, all his lovely smooth skin still a little pink from the heat of the bath, nipples pebbling when the air hits them. His prick lies soft against his leg, but Jon isn’t worried about that. He knows how to change it.

He puts his hands on Martin’s skin. Not on his flaccid prick or on the light dusting of hair above, nor on his already quivering thighs. First he places them on his belly, then slides them up over his chest and into his hair, drawing his head towards him.

Martin pulls his head back, resisting. His hands come up and grip Jon’s wrists, trying to tug his hands away. Jon sighs. He doesn’t want to have to do this to him, but Martin isn’t giving him much choice. He gathers Martin’s hands in his and kisses them lightly, tenderly. Then he pulls the tie off of his robe and uses it to tie them together before securing them to the bedpost. Martin struggles, tries to tug his hands from Jon's grasp, but the days of Jon being the weak, fragile one are long past. His god makes him far stronger than he used to be, and Martin is lethargic from the bath and weak from days of idleness. He is only human, after all.

Jon slots himself between Martin’s legs and rubs the length of his body against his. “You feel so good,” he says, words plucked from Martin’s head, first on a list of things he’s longed to hear. He kisses Martin’s forehead, his eyes, the bridge of his nose. Martin turns his head, and Jon kisses his cheek, his ear, the side of his neck. Slides his hands over Martin’s chest, playing with his nipples, rolling them between his fingers, feeling the way that the flesh hardens even more at his attention. “I want you so badly.”

Martin squirms. The words and Jon’s touches are having an effect; he is beginning to grow hard. Jon can feel him against his hip, and he rocks down, enjoying the way it makes Martin gasp. “I don’t-“ he says, and Jon grips his chin and forces his face around so that he can kiss him, and whatever he was going to say is lost between their mouths.

Jon kisses Martin deeply, not minding that he doesn’t kiss back. It’s enough to slide his tongue into his mouth and taste, enough to know that Martin has to fight not to respond. He loves kissing, Jon knows, and his petulance is hurting himself more than it is Jon. He rocks his hips down again, setting a languid rhythm that matches the strokes of his tongue, and feels a small sliver of triumph go through him when Martin’s hips press back, ever so slightly. Now his hands move down, exploring the skin of his belly before moving lower, tugging lightly at his pubic hair before playing with his balls, rolling them, squeezing. Martin squirms and tugs uselessly at the binding on his hands, but Jon has done his job well and they don’t come loose. They won’t come loose until Jon wants them to.

Jon finally moves his mouth away from Martin’s, trailing it down his neck, then his chest, sucking marks as he goes. He laves one nipple then the other with his tongue before biting, relishing the way that Martin cries out, the jerk of his hips. He’s fully hard now, and Jon can feel his arousal. His mind and mouth might stream a litany of denial but his body tells the truth. The way his legs widen as Jon shifts along his body, mouth coming closer and closer to his straining erection. The way his flesh quivers under Jon’s lips, arching into the press of his lips and tongue. 

Jon pauses with his mouth hovering over Martin’s prick to look at him. His eyes are tightly shut and he’s shaking his head from side to side, face red, mouth forming the same word over and over. “Martin,” he says softly. “Martin, look at me.”

“No,” Martin says, moans, but his eyes open as though his lids have been peeled back by invisible fingers, and he does as Jon asks. Their eyes lock and hold, and Jon slowly sinks his mouth over Martin’s prick.

Martin bites his lips to keep the sound inside, but Jon hears it anyway; it echoes through his head as robustly as if Martin had given it voice, and is just as beautiful. _Yes_ , he thinks and begins to move his head.

He makes it sloppy, moaning gustily around his mouthful as he moves his head up and down, getting Martin good and wet, fondling his balls and inner thighs as he does. It’s how Martin likes it; even better than the feeling of a mouth around him is knowing that his partner is enjoying what he’s doing. And enjoy it Jon does; he likes the weight of Martin in his mouth, on his tongue. Likes when he forgets to pretend that he doesn’t want this and begins to rock his hips into it. Likes his bitten-off gasps and moans that become full-bodied the closer he gets to coming. Likes how open his mind goes right before he comes. Likes best of all the way his eyes go blind when he loses the fight with his body; the way he arches and moans and sees absolutely nothing. Jon opens all of his eyes at that moment and directs the burning focus of his gaze solely on Martin, wanting more than anything to capture the moment. There’s something fascinating about watching the awareness in his eyes fade, even for a few seconds. Fascinating and slightly terrifying; Jon can’t remember a time when he hasn’t seen everything. The taste of his own fear is bitter, but Jon swallows it greedily, eager for the experience.

Jon swallows Martin’s come just as greedily and keeps his mouth where it is, suckling at him until he whimpers. Even then he keeps on, loath to pull away, eager for every sensation he can wring out of the body beneath him. Eventually though his own arousal won’t be ignored, and he has to pull away. He rises over Martin, who stares at him, his wide eyes moving over Jon’s face, his eyes, his chest, then lower, cataloging all the eyes. He’s seen them before, of course; Jon is ever on display as clothes are uncomfortable, and anyway any modesty is a thing of the past. This is the first time that they’ve all been open, however; usually Jon closes them in deference to Martin’s distaste, but no longer.

“You once said you saw me as I was,” he says, spreading Martin’s legs and lining himself up between them. “It’s time you see me again. All of me.” Martin turns his head away, but Jon hooks a hand under his chin and turns it back, makes him look. Martin’s wide eyes fix on his. “See,” Jon says, and slides inside.

He does it slowly, wanting to savor every moment. Martin tries to pull away – his only horrified thought being of the eyes, all of those eyes, inside him. Opening and closing – he thinks he can feel them. Jon smiles. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he says, voice fond. “They’re closed.”

Closed they are, blind, but they can still feel. They shiver in delight as Martin’s heat envelopes them, as his body tightens and rubs up against them, almost a caress. This is the part he likes best, his eyes inside Martin, such an important piece of himself nestled within the man he loves. His other eyes catalogue everything: the stretch of Martin’s arse around his prick, his shaking thighs. The minute twitches of his hips that he can’t suppress.

Martin sobs. Jon can feel his fear, his revulsion, and it is delicious. He takes it for the gift it is. After this Martin won’t have to be afraid anymore.

He thrusts into Martin slowly, gently, letting him adjust. His other hand slides between them to fist his prick and stroke. Martin tries to move his hips away, still sensitive, maybe too sensitive, but Jon doesn’t stop or slow, just keeps pumping steadily, and eventually Martin gives in, as Jon knew he would. He starts to work with Jon instead of against, to strain towards his hand rather than away.

“No,” he says, over and over, and “I can’t, please, I can’t,” but once again his body gives lie to the words, matching Jon thrust for thrust. Jon hushes him, presses their foreheads together and keeps their eyes locked as his hips begin to work faster, harder, driving him into Martin’s now welcoming body. Martin hasn’t forgotten about the eyes, but fear and arousal have intertwined, one heightening the other until he is lost, writhing in ecstasy and terror, his own eyes wide and fixed on Jon’s with a kind of panicky desperation. _Don’t let me lose myself_ , his eyes beg, but of course Jon can’t promise that. That’s what they’re working towards, after all.

Martin comes again with a loud cry that is nearly a scream, his prick twitching weakly in Jon’s hand. Jon’s own orgasm follows soon after, and he sighs with pleasure, sinking down onto Martin and covering his face with soft kisses. “You were so good,” he says, “so good. I knew you would understand.” He unties Martin’s hands; Martin keeps them where they are, too drained to try and push Jon away like he knows he should. Jon frames Martin’s face in his hands and kisses his forehead, then wraps his arms around him and simply holds him, looking adoringly into his face.

Martin's body is still beneath Jon's, chest rising and falling with hitched breaths. When Jon lets go of his face he turns it away, closing his eyes. As Jon watches, a tear slips out of one, trailing over the bridge of his nose to land on the pillow beneath him. Another follows, and then another. Jon reaches out and catches the next one on the tip of his finger, then sticks it in his mouth, tasting salt. It is another part of Martin to know, and he cherishes it. Just as he cherishes everything else about him.

"I love you so much," Jon says.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked this, nan! :)


End file.
